


Crown & Country: London

by cruisedirector, Dementordelta



Series: Crown and Country [1]
Category: King's Speech (2010)
Genre: Bedroom Sex, Bedrooms, Churches & Cathedrals, Community: kings_speeches, Dialogue Heavy, England (Country), First Kiss, First Time, Formalwear, Horses, Humor, M/M, Making Love, Parenthood, Psychology, References to Shakespeare, Romance, Royalty, Shakespeare Quotations, Speech Disorders, Speeches, Teaching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-08
Updated: 2011-04-14
Packaged: 2017-10-16 19:37:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 20,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/168631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cruisedirector/pseuds/cruisedirector, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dementordelta/pseuds/Dementordelta
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>No one has ever before loved the prince just for himself. The therapist never realized how powerful a bond that could forge.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Abeyance

**Author's Note:**

> Because there can never be too many first times. Thanks to Celandineb and Oleander9999 for being such wonderful supporters, proofreaders, and friends.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bertie isn't quite finished going over things with Lionel in Westminster Abbey.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because that scene demanded a sequel. Thanks as always to Celandine and Oleander9999 for being awesome cheerleaders, and thanks to Ethel King for information about Big Ben bell-ringing.

Bertie was still smiling as he stepped down from the platform, something Lionel hadn't dared hope to see in the intimidating grandeur of Westminster Abbey.

"I think that went very well, don't you?" he asked Bertie, nodding to show his enthusiasm.

"I still wish that there were fewer lines. 'Herebefore' is a terrible term. I don't suppose they'd let me skip it?"

Laughing, Lionel flipped through the pages. "It's part of the only response that has more than a few words. You had no problem with it this evening."

"I'm not nervous about it tonight." Bertie looked down at himself. "I'm not wearing those wretched robes."

"They may not be the most comfortable of costumes, but the robes will make it easier. People expect you to be ponderous and pompous and slow when you're dressed for the part, so you can take your time." Lionel made a show of slowing his walk, following Bertie as if weighed down by a train. "Or, if you think you want to get it over with, just keep in mind that everyone else will want it to conclude as quickly as you do, so they can get to the feast."

Bertie laughed, though he quickly hid it behind a hand, glancing around as if he expected the Archbishop to descend upon them again and demand proper decorum. "Will you want it to conclude as quickly as possible as well?"

Chuckling to hear him laugh, Lionel shook his head. "No, I'll want to sit and admire you from up there -- " He gestured at the box. " -- and be proud. Like your father would, if he were here."

"No father ever gets to witness his child's coronation. One of the sad necessities of royal life." Bertie slid his finger along the wooden railing of the King's Box. "I'm glad you'll be watching. I won't be as nervous, knowing you're there."

Lionel smiled reassuringly, thinking how odd it must be for Bertie to know that his charming daughter would one day prepare for the same ceremony, though he wouldn't be alive to see it. "You won't be nervous on the day," he said. "You'll have your wife and your girls on either side of you."

"I love my family, but you're the one who has given me the courage to speak in front of so many people, Logue."

"Lionel." The correction slipped out automatically, particularly since Bertie had just said something so flattering. "You'll be wonderful, Bertie. Don't waste your energy being nervous. You'll need your rest." He glanced up at the ceiling high overhead. "Come on, let's find somewhere less daunting to sit down, and I'll mark your pages."

Nodding, Bertie gestured past the choir. "Over there -- the Jerusalem Chamber. It's one of the Dean's private rooms, but I daresay I outrank him." Grinning, Lionel followed him down the long, narrow aisle of the nave, waiting as Bertie signaled a church official to open the door for them.

The Jerusalem Chamber had a large stone fireplace and was ringed with tapestries depicting the life of Abraham. It felt smaller and more intimate after the vast spaces in the center of the massive Gothic church, yet it was still large enough to hold a meeting with the Dean and Canons. Lionel knew from Shakespeare that King Henry IV had died in this very room. Rather than mention that to Bertie, he gestured toward the long bench along the back wall. In an imitation of the Archbishop's voice, with only a trace of mockery, he said, "If Your Majesty is willing..."

A smile flashed across Bertie's face before he reined it in, putting on a regal expression. "Suppose I have my speech therapist go through the motions of the coronation instead."

Lionel had to bite the inside of his cheeks to keep from bursting into laughter. Still imitating the Archbishop's voice, he said, "I'm terribly afraid, Your Majesty, that that would be high treason. If I were to crown your speech therapist, the man would unquestionably take upon himself all the powers of the monarchy, and the man is not only a commoner, but..." He coughed delicately. " _Australian._ "

Bertie roared in delight. "Oh dear, and here I am with my spotless lineage. Hardly a madman or a tyrant in the lot."

"You're not a direct descendant of Shakespeare's Duke of York, are you?" Bertie patted himself on the shoulder as if making sure that he hadn't become a hunchback, and though Lionel was tempted to recite _Richard III_ , he went back to imitating the Archbishop instead. "I feel that I must inform Your Majesty that many Australians are reputed to be descended not from noble madmen or tyrants, but from _convicts_."

Bertie looked down his nose archly. "Sir, I am afraid you are a terrible snob. Australians are the most loyal of subjects. Particularly my Australian."

This time Lionel was unable to help chuckling, picturing the face of Cosmo Lang when Bertie had told him that he would make his own decisions. "You were very kind to defend me to the Archbishop. I thought I was going to find myself unceremoniously tossed out the door and down the steps."

"I would have cut off his head before I allowed him to dismiss you." Grinning, Bertie made a chopping gesture. "I should have defended you earlier. I should have known better than to listen to him and his inquisitors even for a moment."

The smile was gone. With a soft sigh, Lionel sat down beside Bertie on the bench. "I'm sorry about that. I thought you already knew. I assumed that someone from your staff had had me checked out very thoroughly at some point -- within the past few months, at least, if not before your wife ever set foot in my office. If I had known anyone would try to use my background to embarrass you, I would have explained a long time ago."

"I'm the one who should be apologizing." Bertie slumped down on the bench, reaching toward the pocket where he kept his cigarette case before checking his hand. "You're right, someone surely must have looked into your background not long after we first met. My wife probably knew all about it, but we never discussed it. I don't think she wanted to risk interfering with the progress I was making. And I never let myself think about it, because you were helping me so much. It was only when they..." Waving a hand toward the door, Bertie shook his head. "It was only nerves that made me listen."

Unthinkingly, Lionel patted the hand as Bertie dropped it to his knee. Lionel wasn't sorry -- he suspected that Bertie felt stronger now that he had stood up to Lang than he had felt a few hours earlier, when Lang had been all too willing to impose upon the king -- but the Archbishop's suggestion still distressed Lionel. "Did that man really tell you that I only cared about ensnaring a star pupil?" he demanded.

Swallowing, Bertie nodded. "I should never have listened. A true king would have dismissed him before he spewed out his poison."

Lionel squeezed Bertie's fingers, becoming aware of it only when Bertie squeezed back. He withdrew his hand self-consciously. "I'm sure he thought he was protecting you. You're new to this King business, so it's no wonder the Archbishop thought I might be trying to take advantage."

"Taking advantage is a quality with which the Archbishop is all too familiar." Bertie huffed a bit, though his expression had brightened. "He was ever that way with my brother."

That seemed unsurprising. Lionel found himself grinning again. "Just remember that he will be an asset. It will be a triumph for him as well as for you if the coronation comes off without a hitch."

"I only doubt he'll see it as such if you have to leap out of the box and roll me around on the floor so I can get the lines out."

Once again, Lionel burst out laughing. "I'd be afraid of getting caught in your robes. It had better be waltzing instead. The public will be charmed if you tug your wife up out of her seat for a dance in the middle of the ceremony."

"There will plenty of room up there, won't there? I'll simply explain that it's the only way I can muster the proper responses." Bertie began to hum, tapping his foot in his foot in waltz time against the base of the bench. "Just make sure you stay where I can see you so you can gesture to remind me to breathe when I forget. It would be easier if I could put a folding chair up on the platform. I suppose the Archbishop would tell me it's improper."

Lionel tried to picture Cosmo Lang's face if Bertie suggested such a thing even as a joke. He was still grinning widely at the thought of rolling Bertie around at the foot of the chair of Edward the Confessor while a horrified crowd of nobles, church officials, and royal guests watched. "Perhaps I could hide under your enormous train," he suggested.

"You see? You always have a solution." Sitting up straight, Bertie pretended to adjust his voluminous robes, flinging his arm out to toss an imaginary end over Lionel. "I'm certain there will plenty of room under here."

Chuckling, Lionel pretended to hide beneath the robe. "You'll just have to walk very slowly so no one notices."

"I'll be slow, stately, and dignified, as befits a king." Bertie leaned closer, as if hiding with Lionel under the hem, whispering, "And you'll have to promise to be discreet."

"Sir, I am as discreet as any Australian." Lionel attempted to sound indignant, which was not easy when he was holding in giggles. "I don't shout everything out open windows, you know -- just vowels. I have never once danced down Harley Street singing, 'I know the Duke of York!'"

"Doo dah, doo dah..." Bertie laughed again, nudging his shoulder. "I thought perhaps you would, in the beginning. I expected to see a waiting room full of wealthy clients, and a receptionist perhaps. Even some decent wallpaper in your consultation room. But you never changed."

"You don't like my wallpaper? I'll have you know that it was specifically chosen to match my rubbish bin." Remembering Myrtle's face the first time she had seen the walls in that room, Lionel grinned and leaned in as if about to impart a great secret. "Ugly wallpaper is very relaxing. Makes even the stuffiest of pupils more comfortable taking off their waistcoats and jumping around in their shirtsleeves. I shall always picture you in your very fine coat and gloves, looking so proper, with that wall behind you."

Bertie's expression sobered at once. "Don't change it," he said, closing his fingers around Lionel's forearm. "Promise me that my becoming king --" His hand waved in the direction of the door and the grandeur of the nave beyond. "-- and after all this, you'll still help me when I need you."

"Of course I will, Bertie." Lionel deliberately looked at him as he spoke the informal name. "You're the one who's likely to have far more demands on your time."

Nodding, Bertie relaxed, slumping back against the bench. "That's why I want you to promise. Even if the rest of the world goes mad, I want to know that you won't change, and I can see you just as I did before."

"Of course." Lionel tried to sound as matter of fact as possible so as not to give away how moved he was by Bertie's vehemence. "Any time you need me. Now that you're the king, I can make an exception to the rule that you must come to me -- you won't need to see my terrible wallpaper again."

"I want to see it again. I have fond memories of your office." Bertie shook his head adamantly. "I'll be back there."

"All right, then, if the weight of the crown ever gets to be too much, you can come practice tongue twisters and build model airplanes with me." Even without the crown in the room where they were currently seated, the mood had grown too heavy. Lionel grinned a bit and added mischievously, "But I still won't let you smoke."

"Traitor. I may have to chop off _your_ head." Bertie mimicked the motion of raising a cigarette to his mouth, taking a puff.

Narrowing his eyes, Lionel pantomimed pulling the cigarette out of his hand. "You wouldn't dare."

Bertie's eyes went wide. "I shall have to challenge you for that." He twisted toward Lionel, arm raised as if it held a sword.

Spluttering, Lionel pretended to grab a sword to defend himself. "I'll have you know that I was trained by experts."

Bertie's arm moved through a series of thrusts and defensive postures with Lionel attempting to counter them. "Where was that?"

"Perth. A production of _Romeo and Juliet_. I was the second-best swordsman in Verona."

"Were you?" Bertie lowered his arm, setting his imaginary sword across his lap. "What part did you play?"

"Tybalt. Juliet's cousin. I couldn't persuade them to cast me as the romantic lead. Some are born great, some achieve greatness, some have greatness thrust upon them, some learn to be content with hiding under the coronation robes of greatness."

Bertie laughed, leaning back on the bench, shoulder brushing against Lionel's. "You're welcome under my robes any time."

Certainly Bertie hadn't meant to say something that sounded so naughty, yet Lionel couldn't help laughing as well, waggling his eyebrows in a scandalized manner. "Why, Bertie, what would your wife say?"

Bertie flushed, momentarily speechless. "P-probably the same thing yours would," he stammered.

That was an opening that was not to be missed. Over the years, Lionel had become an expert at mimicking Myrtle. "'Lionel, dear! Stop pretending to be Falstaff to his Prince Hal and clean up the parlor before my bridge group arrives.'"

He'd succeeded in making Bertie grin again. "Well, perhaps not exactly the same thing." Bertie raised his head in a clear imitation of Elizabeth. "'Bertie, the maids have put Margaret's horses out of order. Would you ring them and have them come up and fix it?"

"Princess Margaret keeps her horses in the palace?"

Bertie clapped his hand over his mouth, though a snort escaped from his nose. "Toy horses. About this high." He was giggling helplessly when he dropped the hand to measure out the size of the horses in question. "Both girls have a stable full."

After the stress of the early part of the evening, it was a delight to see Bertie laughing so much. "And it is your duty as a husband and father to see that the toy horses are properly stabled?" asked Lionel, schooling his expression to seriousness. "I can see why you might be nervous about becoming king. I don't see how any man could be expected to manage both responsibilities."

"I knew that you would understand." Bertie nudged him with his elbow. "You can see why I'll need your help with my speeches."

"I'm looking forward to helping you with your speeches. I expect to be served very fine tea at Buckingham Palace. Myrtle may even let me buy a new suit."

"I hope I can lure you to Balmoral at Christmas as well. I hate to ask you to abandon your family, but it won't feel like Christmas until I get the damn speech over with." Bertie's fingers wrapped around Lionel's, warm and slightly damp. "I can't do this without you."

"After all your hard work, you'll be more than ready when the time comes." Lionel shook his head slightly, grinning to encourage Bertie, whose expression had turned grave once more. "You'll make your family and all England proud."

"If I had a fraction of your self-confidence, I'd be the finest king England has ever seen."

"You _will_ be the finest king England has ever seen."

Silence. Bertie stared at Lionel, his eyes wide. He wasn't quite smiling, but his expression had warmed, and there was something else -- the same determination in his eyes that Lionel had seen when Bertie told the Archbishop to stop advising him on personal matters.

Bertie hadn't taken his hand back, so Lionel squeezed it again, adding, "You know I wouldn't say it if I didn't believe it. It will be a glorious coronation, and then perhaps they'll let you relax for two or even three whole days."

"If they don't, I'll tell them that I need some emergency speech therapy," Bertie said. "Of all the specialists in London, I picked the very best."

Lionel felt uncharacteristically shy under the intensity of that gaze. "The king is very generous," he murmured, lowering his own eyes.

Bertie swung his arm over as if he intended to chuck Lionel on the chin, but his hand paused and his fingers opened, cupping it instead, tilting Lionel's face up. "The king is..." repeated Bertie in a low voice.

Lionel had no choice but to look at him. "The king is...magnanimous?" he tried again, cocking an eyebrow.

Bertie shook his head slowly, leaning in. Lionel realized what he must have been planning only as Bertie spoke the words, breath warm against Lionel's cheek. "The king is...going to kiss you." They were so close that Bertie scarcely needed to lower his mouth to brush it over Lionel's.

At first Lionel was too surprised to do anything but react on instinct -- instinct in this instance causing him to purse his lips and kiss back, while the shock of that contact was traveling through his body, stirring nerve endings he hadn't known could be moved in such a manner. Bertie groaned softly, releasing Lionel's chin, letting his fingers slide away from Lionel's face as if he believed Lionel had only permitted the kiss because Bertie had given him no choice, though Lionel made no effort to pull away or even to lift his head enough to break the connection.

Bertie's hand slid over his shoulder, down his arm, as if Bertie intended to withdraw it, yet was not in any hurry to do so. Lionel caught Bertie's fingers before they slipped away, still pressing his own lips to Bertie's, half-opening his eyes because he was certain Bertie hadn't truly meant to do this, despite his words. Was he going to be angry, was he going to be chagrined? They couldn't afford any misunderstandings so close to the coronation --

"May I do that again?" Bertie had pulled back only far enough to speak, his face still too close for Lionel to see clearly without his glasses. Lionel tried to focus on his eyes, his mouth, moving his head up and down, realizing that he was nodding at the same moment Bertie did. Nodding as well, as if assuring himself of Lionel's answer, Bertie leaned in, kissing him again.

Now that he was actually thinking about what he was doing -- and with whom he was doing it, and where, and why -- Lionel's hands were shaking, his heart racing, though neither reaction stopped him from pressing his mouth firmly to Bertie's. He vibrated with Bertie's groan, feeling himself bent back, pressed against the hard wood of the bench, as Bertie's fingers slipped out of his own only to slide around his waist. His lips parted in surprise as Bertie's tongue flicked over them and Bertie moaned.

Better not to think, Lionel told himself, keeping his eyes tightly shut. Thinking would just remind him that the Archbishop and the Dean and Bertie's driver and Bertie's secretary and BBC technicians and a half-dozen church officials might be right outside the door...that this was madness, which Lionel already knew, though it was the most glorious kind of madness, like Prospero at the heart of _The Tempest_. He kissed back passionately, gripping Bertie's arm, breathless and trembling. It wouldn't do to refuse a king, even if this turned out to be an elaborate prank; but if the prank turned out to be that Bertie wasn't a king at all, if the coronation never happened, Lionel would have been happy to kick the rehearsal pages under the bench and keep kissing Bertie all the same.

When had that happened?

Bertie groaned softly, lifting his mouth to breathe. "Oh, Lionel..."

The sound of his name spoken with such passion, without a hint of a stammer, made Lionel shiver. "Is this -- did you -- " he tried to ask, before realizing that he had no idea what the question was and might not want to know the answer, either.

"Did I what?"

Shaking his head slightly, Lionel kissed him again, and Bertie groaned again, which Lionel decided was the best sort of answer to any question. He felt Bertie's hand slip around to his back and slid his own fingers up Bertie's arm. If he had ever had any thought to feign disinterest or docility, the possibility had melted in the heat between them.

When had _that_ happened?

Bertie panted a bit against his mouth and Lionel let their foreheads rest together, trying to collect his thoughts, which remained subsumed under a sense of vague terror and stronger awe. He wondered which showed more in his expression when Bertie looked at him, eyes slowly coming into focus as his head lifted.

"Should I apologize?"

It was as if Bertie had spoken in another language, the words made so little sense to Lionel. "Apologize?" he repeated. Oh -- Bertie meant for kissing him, of course. At once Lionel shook his head. "No, no."

Smiling, Bertie slid his hand away from Lionel's back. "I'm not sorry I did it. Only if I've made you uncomfortable."

Questions slowly began to surface within Lionel's mind, the first being, _Why did you stop?_ , though he managed to keep himself from blurting that out. "Not uncomfortable," he managed, though _Why now_ and _Since when_ and so many other phrases threatened to trip up his tongue.

"Good, because if you don't mind, I'd like to keep doing it." The hand pressed against Lionel's back again, fingers spreading, as Bertie pressed his mouth to Lionel's. This time there was no hesitation before their tongues slid together.

Lionel had spent quite a lot of time thinking about Bertie's tongue, and his jaw, and his lips -- how to strengthen the one and loosen the other, how to teach Bertie to make them work as Bertie wished them to. He knew that some part of himself had always been excited by Bertie, but he'd persuaded himself that he was responding to the Duke of York -- the son of the King -- not to the man himself, not to a man as such. Apparently Lionel was a better actor than he had realized, because he'd managed to convince himself with that performance, though it seemed just as obvious now that he hadn't fooled Bertie.

If he was going to get his head chopped off, he might as well enjoy the crime. Lionel slid his arms around the King of England, kissing back hard, pressing forward so that Bertie was pinned against the back of the bench. He felt Bertie's groan as much as he heard it, and his entire body responded.

There was no point in asking himself when that had happened. Lionel knew it had happened to him before, though he had always been able to rationalize that it wasn't about Bertie, precisely. Maybe tonight Bertie simply wanted to show Lionel that even an unorthodox speech therapist couldn't help looking for the king in the man.

Except that Bertie was brushing his fingertips over Lionel's cheek, sliding the fingers into his hair, still kissing him. Whatever Bertie thought he was doing, it wasn't to teach Lionel any sort of lesson. He pushed up eagerly, groaning more loudly than was probably wise, here inside Westminster Abbey where in the quiet of the night Lionel could hear Big Ben chiming the hour...

Bertie felt him go still, and stroked the side of his face reassuringly, but Lionel was still listening. He tried to relax because it had been so perfectly lovely to see Bertie so relaxed a few minutes ago, laughing and joking as if the tension of the coronation and becoming king were no longer weighing on him. "I didn't realize it was so late," Lionel said, shrugging a bit in apology.

Shaking his head, Bertie reached for his pocket watch. His fingers were shaking a bit as well, as was his voice when he said, "I may have forgotten how to tell time." Lionel leaned over to look at the watch and breathed in sharply when it confirmed what the bells had told him. Bertie's head bent beside his own as they peered together. "It can't be -- Lionel, we should get home."

The thought that they might open the door and find twenty people in a semicircle outside waiting for them made Lionel's arousal wither at once. He nodded, sitting back, belatedly blushing as he tugged his shirt straight.

"I will see you tomorrow?"

When he looked at Bertie's face again, Lionel saw what looked like alarm. He smiled reassuringly. "Don't we need to rehearse?" A glance around showed that the coronation papers had fallen to floor. Lionel picked them up sheepishly. He hadn't made a single mark on the pages, which was what they had come into the chapel to do.

Swallowing, Bertie smiled. "Yes. Tomorrow. I need to work on that long horrid 'herebefore' response."

The papers rustled in Lionel's hands as he passed them over. He couldn't tell whose fingers were trembling more, his or Bertie's. "I have you on my calendar. And after the coronation, the opening of Parliament. And next winter's Christmas address. If you can bear to see so much of me..."

Bertie interrupted him with a hand on his arm. "Tomorrow, and no more trouble from the Archbishop."

"I'll be there. I promised. Whenever you want." The words sounded more vehement than Lionel had intended. Awkwardly, he adjusted his tie, feeling his pocket to be certain he hadn't left his glasses somewhere else. "I'm not afraid of the Archbishop." This was, of course, a lie, particularly now, but the less Bertie was afraid of Cosmo Lang, the better. "I think he's more afraid of you now."

When he looked up, Bertie was staring at his mouth. The desire to kiss him was so strong that Lionel had to shut his eyes, though when he opened them again, Bertie was smiling, the corners of his eyes crinkling in delight. "Let's hope I can keep him that way." Sliding off the bench, he held out a hand to help Lionel to his feet.

Though he suspected that it constituted yet another breach of royal protocol, Lionel took the proffered hand, squeezing Bertie's fingers harder than necessary. "I have faith in you," he said, then, "Thank you. For what you said to the Archbishop earlier, too."

He closed his mouth, trying to think what to add to this that he hadn't already said. Bertie somewhat reluctantly released his hand. "I meant what I told him. I want you in the King's Box. Every word that I speak clearly will be because of you."

"You can't imagine I would miss it for the world. Although, as I've told you, every word that you speak clearly will be because of all your hard work. You should hold your head up and be proud."

Bertie smiled at Lionel over his shoulder as he walked to the door, opening it, looking relieved to find that the Archbishop had at least lived up to the promise of privacy he had given them when he had assured Bertie that he would place the Abbey at their disposal that evening. He raised his chin, then clapped a hand to the back of his head. "If I do that, the crown may slip off the back of my head. Terrible scandal."

Lionel couldn't help chuckling, though it echoed as they stepped into the nave. "Just remind the Archbishop that it's your head, and tell him to place the crown very firmly upon it. Though don't tell him that that was my idea. He may do the very opposite of whatever I say."

"We'll go over it tomorrow." Ahead of them, Lionel could see a small knot of men, like the circle of inquisitors he had spotted when he entered the Abbey earlier that evening, but now Bertie was not among them; he was barely a step ahead of Lionel, smiling back at him. Bertie's fingers brushed against Lionel's hand, which Lionel knew meant that Bertie must have reached back deliberately. "I need my rest and I'm sure you do, too."

As he repressed a shiver at the surreptitious touch, Lionel thought that he was unlikely to rest at all that night. Whatever those kisses had been about -- nerves and enthusiasm, or gratitude, or curiosity -- they were highly unlikely to happen again, and under no circumstances were they meant to lead to any preoccupation on Lionel's part, on pain of madness.

Yet as Lionel headed out past the graves of all the greatest writers in the English language, he pressed his lips together, amazed and thrilled. Like a medieval champion, Bertie had fought for his honor. And had apologized for ever doubting him.

And had kissed him.

Lionel didn't think there was any precedent in literature for that unexpected joy.

He still didn't know what it meant, but filled him with hope beyond anything he had imagined when he had arrived tonight for the already awe-inspiring task of preparing a king for his coronation. He looked up at the sweeping lines of glass and stone, and, just as the architects had intended, felt his spirit soar.


	2. Requital

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bertie didn't dare to imagine that Lionel wanted it as much as he did. Lionel hardly dared to imagine it at all.

It was no coincidence that Bertie had had the clock removed from the sitting room nearest his bedroom, though he could hear Big Ben tolling the hour at nine in the evening and raised his voice in hope of disguising the sound. Unfortunately, it didn't work.

"I hope your family doesn't mind that these sessions keep running later and later," said Lionel, glancing toward the door with a rueful grin. "The Council hasn't given you much rest and this is the second time you've had me to dinner. Has your wife seen you at all?"

"Enough to hear the progress I've been making." Bertie hoped that Lionel wouldn't wonder at his blush. Hoping to divert Lionel, he asked, "Am I keeping you from _your_ family?"

"My family likes nothing better than to gloat amongst themselves that the King is my friend. I feel very fortunate that you can find as much time for me as you do." The warmth of Lionel's smile only made Bertie blush more. Spending time together as friends was one thing, but Bertie's invitations might not have seemed so friendly if Lionel's family could guess at Bertie's motives. "I just don't want you to think I'm insensible to the other demands on your time if I seem greedy."

"You could never be greedy. I miss seeing you every day for lessons. I still practice, you know."

Again Lionel looked pleased. "I can tell. It shows when you speak. You know you can ring me up whenever you like. I wish it were still possible to see you every day; you were always the high point of my afternoon."

"I thought at some point you must have grown tired of my temper."

"I haven't seen your temper in a while." Lionel waved a hand dismissively, though Bertie thought he might be trying to banish the memory, rather than the significance, of Bertie's foul moods. Even if Lionel had forgiven him for the things he had said during that one awful quarrel, Lionel hadn't forgotten it any more than Bertie had. Some of the fear must have shown in his face, for Lionel continued gently, "I've known you had a temper since the day we met. Makes you a fighter. I know better than to take it personally. You must know that I have only the highest regard for you."

 _Regard_ was not a word Bertie had longed to hear. "Is there more wine?" he asked, trying not to look as crestfallen as he felt.

"There is plenty of wine. Is 'regard' insufficient?" Fuck, fuck, fuck. Lionel had always been able to read him, even when Bertie was in the worst sort of temper -- which Bertie supposed was a saving grace of sorts -- but was going to get him in trouble now. He lowered his gaze as Lionel leaned over with the carafe, adding, "I have only the utmost admiration and affection, too."

"I am very grateful to have both. What was it you said earlier? I shouldn't be greedy."

"You're the king. I'm told you're allowed to be greedy." The conspiratorial smile made Bertie shiver. "Have as much wine as you like."

"I've probably had enough. I'm saying things I shouldn't." Bertie could see the confusion on Lionel's face, and went on quickly, "I don't usually get to relax like this."

Nodding, Lionel took a sip of his own wine. He was being much more careful, since he had driven to the palace himself, though Bertie thought that Lionel had been a bit careful since the coronation rehearsal, when, so far as Bertie could tell, Lionel believed they had both completely lost their minds.

"You need more time to relax or it will affect your speech," Lionel murmured, then glanced over at him. Bertie was careful to keep his expression guarded, but that was a mistake, for Lionel's eyes widened in alarm. "Bertie, are you all right? Did I say something wrong?"

"No, of course not. Our time together is precious to me, and you've been very gracious."

Lionel raised his chin and set both feet on the floor. "I don't think I like the way you say 'gracious' any better than you like the way I say 'regard.' We aren't this formal," he began.

"Yes, you're right." Now or never. "I've had something on my mind and I thought I'd bring it up, but I find I've lost my nerve."

Surely Lionel must have known where this was going, but Bertie suspected that Lionel would never dare ask directly. "That's not like you," Lionel said. "Come on, this is me you're talking to."

"Thank goodness. I would never do anything to jeopardize our friendship. I don't know how I would have gotten through the last few weeks without you."

"You'd have done it the way you get through everything, with courage, and grace, and a sense of humor. Bertie, I'm not going anywhere." Despite the words, Lionel looked nervous. He glanced around the room as if checking to be certain he knew where the exits were. "You haven't found another speech therapist, have you? One of those English specialists of whom the Archbishop is so proud?"

"Of course not! There isn't anyone else in the world I'd trust with my voice."

"Then why are you talking about jeopardizing our friendship? I know I must have done something. Tell me what it is, or I'll have to assume the worst."

"Please, never think that." Being distressed at having upset Lionel made it easier for Bertie to force himself to speak. _Get it out._ "You have been nothing but kind to me even when I..." Bertie had to stop and swallow. "When I kissed you."

If possible, Lionel looked relieved to have the elephant in the room acknowledged, yet simultaneously as though his worst fears had been confirmed. "Is that what this is about?" he asked quietly, avoiding Bertie's eyes. "Have I been...touching you too much, or staring at your mouth?"

Bertie had nodded when Lionel had asked the first question, but by the last, he had gone still. "Have you been staring at my mouth?" he whispered, since that mouth suddenly felt dry.

He took a gulp of wine while Lionel answered: "I'm sure I have. I always did. I needed to, when we were first working together, and now...since it's making you uncomfortable, I'll try to stop."

"It would only make me uncomfortable if you were looking at me and regretting those kisses. I never have for a moment."

Finally, Lionel did look at him, squaring his shoulders. "I haven't either. I was afraid at first that it would change things, but it didn't, did it?"

"If nothing changed for you, why are you afraid of staring?" Bertie watched Lionel open and close his mouth again as though Lionel were the one afraid of stammering, and felt bold. "You haven't wondered what it would be like to do it again?"

"I'd nearly convinced myself the entire thing must have been an accident," said Lionel, though his face had turned pink. "I relived it over and over in my head so many times that it made my head spin."

Bertie's head was spinning too, and he knew it had nothing to do with the wine. "I've wanted to do it again ever since, but only if you did, and I was terrified of losing your friendship if you didn't want to." He glanced across the room to check the door once more, then his hand found Lionel's.

Still blushing, Lionel squeezed Bertie's fingers in his. "You won't ever lose me."

"The door is locked. May -- may I -- ?"

Lionel didn't waste any time nodding or saying yes. Sliding a hand up Bertie's arm, he pulled Bertie over and kissed him with the same fervor that Bertie recalled from the night in the abbey. His fear that Lionel was merely indulging the king's whims melted away; Lionel was as passionate as he had been in every fantasy Bertie had had since, trying to reconstruct the magic of those kisses.

"I didn't imagine how good this felt," he whispered when at last they paused to catch their breath.

"No, it's better than I remembered. I thought last time you might not have realized what you were doing," confessed Lionel, fingers touching Bertie's lips.

Bertie didn't allow himself to stop and think or he knew he'd never get the words out. "Kissing the man I'd fallen in love with? Yes, I knew what I was doing," he blurted out in a rush.

Again Lionel reacted as though he were the one with the stammer. "When? What did you..." His hands shook against Bertie's arms. "No, no, never mind, just say that again."

Very little rattled Lionel, so Bertie didn't think Lionel was pretending to be moved, though he had a momentary fear that Lionel wanted him to repeat the words only to confirm the worst. Swallowing, he said, "I -- I've -- I've fallen in love with you. I'll be content with your regard and your affection, but I didn't think it would be fair to kiss you again and not tell you."

Lionel let his forehead rest against Bertie's. So close, Bertie couldn't see his eyes clearly, though he thought maybe that was what Lionel wished. Finally Lionel said, "You must know you've had my love for years. Even at times when I didn't think you liked me much."

"I know I behaved like an insufferable snob, for which I can only apologize. A man's love for his king wasn't what I wanted from you. I wanted you to return my passion."

Now was the moment when Lionel would gently tell him that that could never be. Yet Lionel shivered harder than before, keeping his head pressed against Bertie's. "I never dreamed you'd want me to, let alone that you'd let me."

"Does that mean you want me to --" There were much better ways of asking the question, Bertie realized, that would relax his jaw instead of making it lock up. Indeed, Lionel kissed back just as passionately as before. "I must warn you that I may not be able to stop."

"Can't you tell that I don't want you to stop?"

"What if kissing isn't the only liberty I wish to take?"

He could feel Lionel's chest heaving with quickened breath. "There is no liberty you can take that I wouldn't gladly give," Lionel admitted. "Since that night, I've had trouble trying not to imagine it."

"People expect royalty to do outrageous things behind closed doors. I'm sure I don't have to tell you. You've played kings on stage. But I won't take any more liberties if it will hurt anyone you love -- your wife, your boys."

At that, Lionel sat back. Immediately Bertie missed him, but he knew they had to have this conversation or risk regretting the kisses. "I can't lie to my wife," Lionel told Bertie, who nodded. "So I would have to ask you to trust her as well as me, and you barely know her."

"If you trust her, then I shall as well. She won't mind?"

Lionel's cheeks reddened. "Myrtle has made suggestive comments about us before. Ever since she met you. I've never been able to hide anything from her, though I thought she was just trying to provoke me."

Bertie felt his eyebrows rising as quickly as his mood. "Has she? Oh, I like her more and more the more you tell me about her."

"What about your wife? And your girls, and your valet, and your butler, and your equerry...the risk to you is much greater."

"I wasn't planning to tell my girls. They wouldn't understand, anyway, they're much younger than your boys. My valet and equerry and maids are completely loyal to my family. If anyone suspected anything, there would be complete discretion. And my wife..." Now Bertie hesitated, not certain how much to confess. "She understands that I have needs."

He'd thought Lionel would be relieved to hear that Elizabeth would not object, but the warmth disappeared from Lionel's smile. "Does she," he reflected, looking away, studying one of the nautical paintings on the wall in its ornate frame. "Has she always?"

The question puzzled Bertie until he understood that Lionel thought Bertie had meant that he'd had other lovers, perhaps even other men, perhaps even since his marriage. After what Lionel had just told him about Myrtle, Bertie knew he owed him a better explanation.

"When we married, I promised her there would be no other women, though I'm not sure she believed me. I expect that was part of her reluctance to marry a prince. We aren't known for fidelity." He could see that Lionel was watching him guardedly, and plunged ahead, stammering only a bit. "But things are easier for her when I'm happy, and for the girls, too. She knew I was in such misery after that row with you in the park. I think she understood even before I did -- I was pretending to myself that it was what you'd said rather than what I'd said that was stopping me from coming back. I wanted to turn around after ten steps, but I was too proud. I convinced myself that it was beneath me to feel so strongly about a man who probably didn't even like me. Elizabeth drew it out of me, how I felt. I thought she'd be horrified, but she called it love before I did. It took a bit longer for her to convince me that I needed to see you for the sake of my voice, even if I was terrified of seeing pity in your eyes if you realized."

"I thought you knew me well enough to know that pity isn't in my vocabulary. Even if I hadn't adored you already, which I did." Lionel found Bertie's hand again. "I can't say I never encountered a crush from a pupil, but I never reciprocated one. I never had those sorts of feelings for a man. Nor any experience either, if that matters.” He paused to take a breath. “Those weeks when we weren’t speaking were the worst of my life. I didn't think I'd see you again, and at the same time I couldn't avoid seeing you in every newspaper and on every wall. Even if I'd imagined I had anything that might tempt you, I'd never have thought, with a commoner, with anyone as old as I am --"

"All of those things make you who you are, and I fell in love with _you_ \-- your patience, your dedication. Your smile." Bertie let himself smile, relieved, though he couldn't have said why, that Lionel had no more experience with men than he did himself. "You've been making my heart flutter since the first time you smiled at me."

Lionel wasn't smiling now. "Bertie, you have to be completely certain," he said. "If you decide you've misunderstood your own desires, you'll think I've taken advantage of you, and it will affect your speech. You won't only mistrust me, but you'll mistrust everything I've taught you..."

"Lionel, I practically pounced on you in Westminster Abbey," Bertie cut him off. "There isn't anything we've done or anything I've thought about that I want to go back from."

He cupped Lionel's face, finally succeeding in drawing a grin from Lionel. "You were about to be crowned King of England. I think a certain amount of exuberance is understandable. That's not the same thing as plotting to...well, if you're suggesting what I think you are, I believe it's illegal."

"I have it on good authority that the crown will not pursue any case against you. Kings have done much worse things for less noble reasons than what we are contemplating." Bertie dropped his hand, though he let the fingers brush lightly down Lionel's arm.

"It's not your motives I'm worried about. I couldn't bear any scandal touching you." Again Lionel shivered, catching Bertie's fingers and squeezing them. "I don't want to start something that you'll then have to spend time hiding, or decide is too dangerous and that it's safer not to see me at all."

It was touching, Bertie thought, that Lionel should be so protective of him, when Bertie was probably much better protected than Lionel could hope to be. "We've been discreet. Hardly anyone knew I was having speech lessons, and we weren't even trying to hide that. If I thought my being with you would represent any sort of threat to the monarchy, you know I wouldn't have asked, and if you'd told me that it would damage your marriage, I'd never have spoken of it again. But I don't want to go through the rest of my life knowing I loved you and kept you at arm's length."

Slowly, deliberately, Lionel released Bertie's hand and slid his own up to Bertie's elbow so that they were no longer at arm's length. "If you're going to keep saying you love me, I'm going to have to kiss you again," he warned throatily.

"I never want you to stop kissing me." That was all it took, and it was as if they had never stopped, though at the same time it was deeper, more satisfying, with the certainty now that it was not only welcome but wanted. Bertie laughed softly as his hands slid around Lionel's face. "You smile against my mouth when I kiss you."

"I may never stop smiling again."

"That will make me the happiest king and the happiest man who ever lived."

"No, I'm the happiest man. You can be the happiest king." Bertie drank in his smile, though after a moment Lionel grew serious again. "Tell me what you want. I'm afraid that at my age, quick and on the sofa isn't usually a great success."

"I don't want anything quick." Was what he wanted too much? Hesitantly, Bertie asked, "Will you stay, tonight? The telephone's just there if you want it, or I can ring down and have someone send a message that I kept you working late and put you in one of the guest suites."

"Let me call. Myrtle will think some emergency has arisen, otherwise. I don't want her to worry."

With a nod, Bertie slid his hands away, reluctant even to stop touching. He gestured at the rear door of the room. "My bed is just through there. There won't be any servants tonight."

Lionel's eyes widened. "Did you plan this?"

Blushing, Bertie nodded again. "I tried last week but I was too nervous. This time I had more wine." He stood, offering a hand to Lionel, who was chuckling as he accepted it and rose. "I'll wait for you in there."

Bertie hadn't had so much wine that he could keep himself from pacing nervously, afraid that the sound of his wife's voice would recall Lionel to his senses and trigger a quick reversal. Would he tell her what he was planning, or wait until he saw her in person, after the fact?

Yet a few minutes later, there was a tap on the door, and Bertie opened it to let Lionel through.

"Everything all right?"

"Fine. They're all nearly asleep at home." Lionel's eyes slid away from Bertie's, taking in the room, the rack for clothing for the servants to clean and fold the next day, the small desk with its gold snuffbox and pens, the photos of the girls as babies. The bed.

"My namesake slept there. The original Prince Albert."

"Queen Victoria's husband? That's whose bed you're planning for us to --" Lionel laughed, raising and lowering his eyebrows as if he were scandalized.

At once, Bertie blushed. "You don't mind, do you? It's really a very nice bed. There are curtains." He glanced at Lionel to see whether he did mind, wondering whether to explain that he'd never shared the bed with Elizabeth -- particularly since they'd lived in the Palace, he'd always gone to her, she didn't like to be seen walking into his bedroom. Lionel was smiling a bit, so Bertie took a breath and added, "It's mine now. And I've pictured you in it with me so many times."

"It's just a bit intimidating. Didn't he father thirty children?"

"Only nine that I know of. Probably the reason he died so young." Bertie couldn’t help giggling. "I didn't think anything intimidated you."

"Just not living up to your expectations." With a rueful smile, Lionel glanced behind him at the door, then reached up to turn the ornate ornamental key in the lock. "Did I mention that I've never done this before?"

"You've already outdone my expectations. Knowing you want this has made me happier than I ever thought I could be." Bertie kissed him lightly. "Just tell me exactly what it is you want."

Still laughing softly, Lionel nipped at his lower lip. "I don't have the words -- or the words I do know aren't polite."

"Nothing I didn't hear in the Navy. But men can make love between them, even if the world calls it something vulgar." Bertie slid his fingers into Lionel's hair, trying to keep the hand from shaking. "I'll call it anything you like. I'll do anything you like as well, all night if you wish, even if it's just this..."

The groan that vibrated Lionel's chest traveled through Bertie's as well when he kissed him. "I won't last all night," Lionel whispered. "See what you've done to me." His arms circled Bertie's waist and he kissed Bertie hard, as if to prove the point, pressing him against the door.

Moaning, Bertie wrapped himself around him, returning the kiss. "May I --" They'd long since set aside their waistcoats, but Lionel was still wearing his tie, and Bertie tugged at it.

"May I, also?" Lionel's fingers were swift and sure on Bertie's buttons now that the choice was made. He kissed down Bertie's jaw, sliding away suspenders, dropping cufflinks into a pocket. "I always thought you'd breathe more easily without all this. Better for your speech."

"I can’t breathe with you undressing me, either." It was difficult enough to remain upright with Lionel tugging the ends of his shirt out of his trousers. "We should lie down. Let me get this off --" His hands shook as he pulled at Lionel's undershirt.

Lionel raised his arms obediently. "Just keep in mind that I'm much older than you are..." They bumped noisily into the door as Bertie reversed their positions, bending reverently to press his face against Lionel's chest, the sparse dark hair there laced with grey. He moaned as he felt Lionel clutch at his shoulder.

"Bed. Please." They finished undressing on opposite sides, and Bertie left only the small bedside table lamp switched on, though he couldn't help watching as Lionel fought to step out of his trousers without knocking himself over. "My hands are still shaking," Bertie admitted as Lionel hesitated with his hands resting on the waist of his button-front shorts. The underwear slid away, making Bertie moan, reaching for Lionel.

At last Lionel turned to him. "I need --" he began, then kissed Bertie, shuddering as their bodies came together.

Bertie was unable to stop touching him long enough to do more than kick the covers aside. Either Lionel knew exactly what Bertie wanted, or their wishes were in perfect balance, for Lionel rolled on top of him, pressing down, no longer cautious about where he put his hands as Bertie slid arms and legs around him. "Yes -- everything -- more. Touch me everywhere."

He knew that he sounded neither regal nor dignified, could probably never appear as either again in Lionel's eyes, and fervently hoped that Lionel would prefer him as a lover to a king. "This is what you want?" panted Lionel, rocking against him.

"Can you -- can we --" Bertie cut himself off with a cry as Lionel's fingers brushed a nipple. He was twitching, thrusting against his thigh, knowing this couldn't last, wanting too much all at once. Lionel was as hard as he was, pressing just as firmly against Bertie's hip, squeezing his bottom with the hand not exploring his chest.

He wrapped his legs around Lionel's hips, and Lionel bucked in response. "Can we what?"

"Make love. I want to feel you inside me before I finish."

Lionel trembled all over. "Oh, Bertie, we can try, but I don't know --"

"Only if you want to." He should have said that to begin with, but he was too aroused and eager to fight with his Ws. "If it’s too fast, I'm really very happy just to kiss you."

"I want to so much that I don't know if I can last long enough to do it properly. I'm afraid I'll hurt you. Don't we need -- I don't know -- what do we need?"

"I heard several suggestions from sailors. Butter, hair wax...oil sounded easiest. I don't care if you can't last. Now that I know you want it, we can do it again."

Smiling a bit, Lionel nodded. "I'm afraid I didn't put any oil in my pocket when I left the kitchen this morning."

Perhaps Lionel was smiling because he thought he'd been given a reprieve. Bertie tried to force a laugh. With a flick of his wrist, he gestured to the table by the bed, knowing that he was blushing again. "I have some." He could see the astonishment on Lionel's face, quickly replaced by the guarded expression that Lionel had worn earlier. “Though I'm not entirely sure what to do with it."

"You've never -- not even by yourself?" asked Lionel, looking relieved that he wasn’t going to have to take lessons, or at least that they would be sharing them.

"Just a bit." Bertie’s face felt as though someone had lit a fire nearby. He waved a finger in the air in hope that that would be explanation enough. "Just to see if I liked it."

"And did you?" Bertie had to nod. Smiling even more, Lionel reached over him. "The drawer's locked."

"The key's in the vase underneath. Wouldn't deter anyone determined to see what's inside, but I doubt they'd risk getting caught looking." With a soft chuckle, Lionel sat up to turn the vase over, dropping the key onto the bed. "There's not much in there, anyway -- a few letters and souvenirs." One of the papers was a note Lionel had scribbled for him with book titles on it, treasured as if it had been a love note, but it didn't matter now if Lionel saw it.

"And this." Lionel slid back and sat up, holding the little bottle of oil, spilling some over his fingers. "Warm."

Knowing where that oil was going made Bertie breathless again. "I love watching you do that."

"You may not love it in a moment when you realize I truly have no idea what I'm doing." Lionel's lips quivered as he spoke. “I'm happy to try if you promise you'll tell me if it's awful." Bertie was already lifting up, sliding his legs around Lionel, whose fingers moved cautiously down the curve of Bertie's thigh.

Bertie let his legs slide apart, leaning up for a kiss before Lionel moved down, face against Bertie's belly, chin brushing the head of Bertie's achingly erect prick. "If it doesn’t work, I’ll just want to try again later. I'm afraid once is never going to be enough. Or twice." A slippery finger breached him, feeling only strange at first. Bertie gasped unevenly, managing a smile, holding it until Lionel smiled back and moved the finger. "I want as many days as you'll give me. I don't think either of us loves lightly."

He felt Lionel's tongue against his prick and gasped again. "I've never -- nothing like this," Lionel said around him. Whatever he was doing with his finger wasn't uncomfortable, but it also wasn't relieving a deeper ache. Bertie pushed himself down, impaling the finger, feeling Lionel's mouth move around his prick, and suddenly Bertie was boneless, crying out in delight.

"Yes, oh, like that!" Lionel's laugh blew cool air over the head of his prick, intensifying its sensitivity when the tongue moved across it again. Wailing softly, Bertie dug his fingers into the sheets. "Yes, oh fuck, again."

He could feel Lionel rocking on the mattress, testing how far he could slide his mouth over Bertie's prick before he had to pull back to breathe. Lionel wasn't as skilled at it as the courtesans and showgirls to whom David had introduced Bertie when he was younger, but even that realization was a pleasure; it meant that there truly hadn’t been other men, that this was something they could learn together. Bertie could feel his own head thrashing on the pillows. "So good, love this, love you, oh more...inside me."

Lifting his head, Lionel sat back. "You'll tell me to stop if I hurt you?"

"Yes. And you'll tell me you need to stop if you don't like it."

"There's no chance of that." Lionel's breathless laugh didn't disguise how hard his hands were shaking, giving him trouble with the oil, which Bertie reached to take from him.

"Let me." He poured some out, wrapping his fingers around Lionel's cock, which hadn't looked much bigger than his own, but felt more substantial in his hand, perhaps because it was so hard and throbbing in response to every touch. "There's quite a bit of you," he said with a smile.

Lionel twitched and groaned, making an effort to keep his hips still. "It's showing off for you."

Still smiling, Bertie looked at his face. "Did you ever get like this during lessons?"

"Fuck!" Lionel's eyes closed. "Once or twice. You?"

"There were hardly any times I didn't."

"I never noticed. Or perhaps that, too, once or twice, but I thought it was just from being rolled around on the carpet."

"It was from you touching me. I thought about touching you like this..."

Bertie twisted his fingers, and Lionel let out a choked cry, his hand shooting out to grab Bertie's wrist. "Don't do that or this is all going to be over right now."

Nodding, Bertie let his fingers slide away. "You know what I want, if you still want to." He dropped back, bending his knees up in invitation. Lionel crawled over him, holding his own slippery cock, trying to press it in the right place. So close, Bertie could feel his breath, his heartbeat...bliss, and at the same time not enough.

They pushed awkwardly against each other for several seconds, increasingly harder, then Lionel lowered his hand fractionally and thrust forward, and Bertie didn't know which of them cried out first. It was more painful than he expected -- so much at once -- but he took deep breaths, pressing his knees against Lionel to stop him from trying to pull back. His fingernails were digging into Lionel's shoulder, so he forced them to relax.

"Tell me if you want me to stop," Lionel grunted, barely moving, as if afraid he'd slide out and they'd have to start over.

"No! It's more than I ever imagined." It was easier to relax when Lionel moved, so Bertie pushed tentatively against him. Yes, that was better. "Please. Again."

Each time Lionel rocked his hips, he gasped softly, pushing in a bit deeper with each thrust. "Can't believe you're letting me --"

"I'm practically begging you." The ache had faded, and Bertie let himself sink into the pillows. They moved without speaking for a few minutes, communicating with groans and the occasional hiss as they tried to work out the best angle. Lionel couldn't keep his hips from moving for more than a few seconds at a time, staring down, and finally he shifted his weight onto one arm so he could reach for Bertie's prick with his opposite hand.

Bertie pushed up into the seeking fingers, arching off the bed, crying out as Lionel's cock pushed in at just the right angle. "Fuck!" he shouted, which made Lionel laugh. "Oh -- perfect -- that -- you're perfect."

"I'm the furthest thing."

Shaking his head, Bertie clenched his legs around Lionel as the hand on his prick tugged him closer to explosion. "No, no," he groaned, head thrashing on the pillow. "You're my love, my perfect love."

"Bertie --" Lionel called out his name in a voice Bertie had never heard him use before, then he went rigid, propelling himself in as hard as that first helpless thrust. Bertie watched his face contort, Lionel who was usually in control of every muscle, every sound...

It was too much, feeling him trembling, pushing against his hand. Bertie gave in to the pleasure rising deep inside, gasping as it burst from his prick, aware even through the pulses that he was clenching around Lionel's prick and clutching at him. He might as well never have made love before, the sensation was so different.

For many long seconds he could hear Lionel panting, trying not to collapse on top of him. He found that he couldn't speak without swallowing. "I-I don't have words."

"Neither do I --" Lionel buried his face against Bertie's shoulder, holding tightly, and Bertie couldn't tell whether it was sweat or tears he felt sliding over his skin. "Are you all right, please, tell me I didn't hurt you."

"I don't think I've ever been as all right as this." Bertie's voice was still uneven, but the pleasure in his lower body had finally engulfed the rest of him; he couldn't stop smiling, even when Lionel shifted his hips back and uncoupled himself from Bertie. "I feel a bit tingly. Not hurt."

Raising up on an elbow, Lionel looked down as if he expected to see blood. "I had no control. I'm sorry."

"Don't be. You really were perfect. Especially coming apart like that. It was better than I ever imagined."

"I'm never going to be able to help coming apart when you say that you love me." Again Lionel his hid his face in the space between Bertie's chin and shoulder, chest heaving. "I never let myself imagine. Now I'll never want you to stop."

"I never will. I told you I'll never get enough of this." Bertie watched his own fingers slide through Lionel's hair, waiting until Lionel looked up so they were face to face. "I thought I was lucky to have what you gave me, before. I felt so greedy to want more."

"You've already given me more than I deserve. Do you know what a gift I thought it was when the Duke of York came into my office? Then you gave me your trust. And your friendship. I wouldn't have dared to wish for more." Lionel wiped his fingers off on the side of the sheet, then traced Bertie's cheekbone with them. "Promise me you'll let me get better at this so I can give you everything you want."

"This gets better?" Bertie huffed a laugh. "I have learned from you the value of repeated practice. Could we go away somewhere together? Someplace private?"

"Is that possible?"

"You know my family has castles in Scotland. I want to take you away from here, if you can spare the time from work and your family."

Lionel was nodding. "I would love nothing more. I'll go anywhere you want. I'd sneak into a dungeon with you if it was the only place I could see you. Just don't keep me in the Tower."

"There isn't any place I wouldn't want to make love with you. I would have tried in Westminster Abbey if I thought you felt the same way." Bertie drank in Lionel's laugh and tried to picture the face of the Archbishop if he'd caught them -- excommunication would have been the mildest of his punishments. "I'm just sorry it took us so long. I don't want to waste any more time."

He shifted to the side so Lionel could settle next to him more comfortably, but after Lionel leaned back, taking in for the first time the details of Prince Albert's bed, he looked wistful. "I suppose I had better sleep somewhere else."

"Why?"

"Won't your staff know I'm here?"

"They won't come to wake me until breakfast. I'll tell them we were working late and you slept in my sitting room. They won't think it's much more odd than you making me waltz around while rehearsing speeches."

"Tell them I was overcome with a sudden fever." Laughing, Lionel brushed his lips over Bertie's forehead. "The king was so kind to take care of me."

With a tug to the covers, Bertie burrowed against Lionel, wriggling in delight. "It's the king's pleasure."

"Oh, no, it's my pleasure, Bertie, more than I can think how to tell you. I may have to resort to quoting Shakespeare."

"Love sonnets, I hope." Sliding his fingers into Lionel's chest hair, Bertie purred in perfect contentment. "You may recite to me any time. Or ravish me, once we've recovered. I want to learn all the ways there are of pleasing you."

Lionel let out a soft, sleepy hum. "I'm falling asleep with you in my arms. I can't think of anything in the world that could please me more than that."

"I can't, either." Bertie could feel his eyes growing heavy. He gave Lionel a squeeze. "You don't mind if I keep telling you I love you, do you?"

He felt Lionel huff a laugh, face buried in his hair. "Oh, Bertie, I love you more than I knew that I could love anyone."


	3. The First of Many Mornings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lionel wakes from a dream to find it isn't a dream, and Bertie wants to make plans.

Lionel's first thought upon waking was that he must still be asleep. He was tangled in soft sheets, his head on a thick pillow. The pre-dawn light was diffuse, filtered through curtains. The bed was just as he remembered from his dream: tall wooden posts, mattress high off the floor.

And Bertie was still in his arms.

No, Lionel didn't want to wake up. A few more minutes of dozing and indulging this fantasy wouldn't be any worse than the other fantasies he'd been entertaining since that glorious night at Westminster Abbey. He closed his eyes, shifting his weight a bit to keep the circulation going in his arm, and felt an answering wriggle.

"I didn't crowd you, did I?"

Surely he'd never imagined Bertie like this, rumpled and tousled and grinning as if he hadn't a care in the world. More details were beginning to creep into Lionel's mind, snatches of conversation from the night before. The bed still smelled of sweat and sex.

Not a dream, then.

As unstoppable as the sun bursting over the horizon at daybreak, Lionel returned the smile. "If you did crowd me, it was only because I couldn't let go of you."

"I never want you to. I shall issue a royal decree. Then you won't have to explain it to anyone."

"And I'll have no choice as a loyal subject but happily to obey." Reality remained slow to intrude upon Lionel's mood. Eventually, he was going to have to get up, he was going to have to find his clothes, he was going to have to sit politely at a Palace breakfast making small talk, he was going to have to drive himself home while thinking all the while about what on earth he was going to say to Myrtle. Now, he chuckled and admitted, "I'm still not positive this isn't all a hallucination from the wine."

"Not even absinthe could make such an ardent dream become real. I didn't think there was any miracle that could give you to me like this." Was Bertie trembling? Anxiously Lionel studied his face, unsure even know whether desire or belated shock was foremost in Bertie's mind. His own thoughts were in the same tangled mess they'd been in since that night at Westminster Abbey -- full of passion and longing and wonder, but also uncertainty about what it all meant, whether Bertie had changed him or some part of him had always wanted this, where that left his marriage and family and all his assumptions about what constituted a normal life.

He brushed a hand over Bertie's face, hoping to be reassuring. "You aren't sore?"

"Only a bit." Bertie's flushed face was itself a marvel. Lionel felt certain that Bertie would have waved the question away had Lionel not been looking right at him, which made it much more difficult to lie. "Not nearly enough to stop me from wanting to do it again."

"I believe kissing is a very good cure for soreness. Kissing everywhere..."

Bertie shuddered softly as he lay back, but this time Lionel was certain that arousal and not fear was the cause. "I shall die of happiness if you do that."

"I forbid you to die, ever." Bertie's hips rolled restlessly back and forth against the mattress, his prick already twitching against Lionel's thigh, and Lionel laughed at the delight of it: being wanted by the King of England, touching him, giving him orders. "So many parts I need to enjoy. It may take years."

"Take as long as you like -- forever, if necessary." Fingers slid into Lionel's hair, stroking hesitantly. "May I also indulge you?"

"Of course, but later." Lionel knew that Bertie was enough younger than himself that Bertie's recuperative powers might be far quicker to take effect than his own. "Let me have you without distraction. Let me feel you come apart without worrying that I'll explode before you do."

A groan vibrated Bertie's chest as fingers knotted in Lionel's hair. "Anything," he said hoarsely. "As long as you promise you'll let me touch you soon."

"Anything you wish, any time, but right now, this is too delicious." Lionel kissed down his throat, rubbing his face against the thin, wiry hairs on Bertie's chest, licking occasionally. He was oddly shy of putting his mouth on the nipples, though Bertie groaned again when he rubbed a thumb across one.

So many years since his first time with a woman, yet it was the same feeling, having to learn all over again. At least Bertie didn't have experience with men either. Lionel was fearful of seeming too much the student and too little the teacher, which was the only role that had ever given him any power over Bertie...

Lovers, of course, had an entirely different power over one another, as Bertie's moan attested when Lionel's cheek brushed the lush hair under his arm. "Ticklish?" he asked, grinning

"No, oh, a bit, but don't stop. I want all your kisses." Still smiling, Lionel let his mouth drift lower, feeling Bertie's fingers clench and release and clench again rhythmically in his hair. He knew full well where Bertie wanted his tongue. "That's ohhhh yes, more..."

It was less strange kissing a man's belly than realizing how familiar Bertie was to him. Of course, Lionel had touched Bertie nearly everywhere in the course of shaking his shoulders and pressing on his chest and rolling him on the carpet. He knew what Bertie smelled like nervous and sweaty and just-washed, though he'd never thought before about how familiar and well-loved those scents were to him.

The prick was much less so, particularly after what they'd done the evening before. Lionel had washed when he'd risen in the night to use the loo -- he'd been absurdly terrified of alerting the entire palace to his presence with an improper flushing of the toilet -- but Bertie still tasted a bit like semen. Not that Lionel minded. He had the absurd, amusing thought that he should feel privileged to experience the seed of so many generations of European royalty.

"What's funny?" demanded Bertie between groans.

"Nothing. Everything. This makes me happy." Lionel slid his fingers all around the prick and bollocks as he talked. "I want all of you..." He moved his lips down the hard shaft.

"Please -- won't be able to hold back if you put your mouth on me."

"Don't hold anything back. Let me feel you mad with pleasure."

The fingers knotted in Lionel's hair again. "Oh God, are you sure?"

"Very sure, love. I had no idea I'd ever want to do this, but I keep imagining it with you."

Either Bertie decided to take Lionel at his word or else Bertie's prick had overwhelmed Bertie's rational decisions. His hips moved, pumping him upward into Lionel's mouth, while his fingers remained firmly on Lionel's head as if afraid Lionel would pull back without that encouragement. "I love this," Bertie choked out. "Not since before I was married -- and only with girls who do this for -- oh Lionel not going to last!"

That much, Lionel could guess; the taste was stronger, the pressure of Bertie's prick against his tongue was harder, and the fingers in his hair were pressing him down quite insistently. He waited for Bertie's grunt, held his breath, forced himself to swallow as hot liquid flooded his mouth. That was definitely going to take some practice, but Bertie was groaning, hand stroking through Lionel's hair. "Yes, just that," Bertie hissed. "You...you did that for me."

Carefully Lionel wiped his mouth and face with a hand, rubbing what he hadn't managed to gulp down on the edge of the sheet. "You aren't suddenly thinking that perhaps I'm a pervert, are you?" he asked, laughing nervously.

"I'm thinking how very lucky I am. I didn't know whether you'd love me at all. Or if perhaps you'd love me but be disgusted by the idea of touching like this."

Grinning, Lionel turned his face against Bertie's palm, which had slid from the top of his head to the side of his face. "I'm afraid I'm rather shameless in bed. And perhaps something of a hedonist in bed with you."

"I hope so, because I do believe it's my turn." Bertie tilted Lionel's chin up so that Lionel could see his smile.

"Only if you want to. Promise me you'll never do anything with me out of a sense of obligation."

"If you knew how eager I was to explore every part of you..." Grinning more widely, Bertie wrapped his hand around Lionel's arm to tug him up, sitting up himself so he could press Lionel back against the pillows. "I told you, I want to indulge you."

Even after those kisses in the Abbey, Lionel had imagined that Bertie might be fairly conventional in his desires, or at least accustomed to lovers trained to please -- courtesans, if not whores. He hadn't fantasized a playful, fearless lover who would take Lionel's hands and press them to the headboard, leaving Lionel completely exposed so that Bertie could move down his body, kissing and licking everywhere without encumbrance.

The fact that Lionel hadn't washed more thoroughly did not seem to be any disturbance to Bertie, who sucked at his nipples and licked along the curve of his armpit. "Want to taste you here, and, mmmmm, yes, under here," Bertie murmured enthusiastically, reaching down to grasp Lionel's erection. "Your prick is very hard close up."

"You got it that way." Bertie's breath blew over it, making Lionel twitch. "You know what your teasing is doing to it..."

Warm, moist lips pressed down. "I can feel your pulse beneath my lips."

"You'll feel more than my pulse, I can't keep my hips still when you do that!"

"But I don't want you to keep still." The lips slid down, kissing his balls, then slid back up again. "I love feeling what I do to you when l kiss you here."

"You're going to feel what you do to me all over your face if you keep that up!"

"But I want to taste you. Better kiss deeper..."

Bertie's mouth opened, engulfing the head of Lionel's prick and sucking with enthusiasm. Lionel opened his mouth as well, but no words came out besides "Please!" Shuddering, he rocked into Bertie's mouth, feeling Bertie angle his head to see how far in he could take the shaft. Occasionally Bertie pulled back to swipe his tongue around the head and through the slit.

Somehow, Lionel knew, he had to find words to warn Bertie, but the crest was rising so quickly. He clutched at Bertie's shoulder. "Can't -- oh God --"

Bertie nodded, moving the suction of his mouth up and down Lionel's prick. That was enough, it was too much, and Lionel didn't dare speak again for fear he'd scream and alert the staff. Gritting his teeth, he grunted through his nose, jerking his hips, oblivious to everything but his prick spurting seed into the mouth of the King of England.

A rueful chuckle brought him back to himself, and he looked down, heart racing and chest heaving. Bertie was wiping white liquid off the side of his face with a corner of bed sheet. Grinning, he wiped off Lionel's thigh as well. "We'll need to practice this so much more."

"I tried to warn you," Lionel panted as apologetically as he could when his entire body felt like it was floating in paradise. "I couldn't stop."

"I didn't want you to stop. I love knowing I brought you such pleasure. Don't you think more mouth and jaw exercises would be good for me?"

The smile was so mischievous that Lionel couldn't help laughing, though he barely had breath for it. "Mouth exercises can only be good for your speech. Though if you get much better at it, I may forget how to talk."

"Not bad for a pair of novices." Bertie crawled up beside him, flopping down against the mattress. "Shall I kiss you, or would that be too odd?"

"I will never not want you to kiss me. I doubt there's anything you could do that I wouldn't find delightful." Lionel had tasted his own seed on Myrtle's skin, but he wondered whether Bertie had ever done the same. It was hard to imagine Elizabeth approving, and if Bertie had really shared whores with his brother, then Lionel thought putting his mouth on them might not have held much appeal. Bertie kissed him hesitantly at first, but the reluctance only lasted a moment.

"That is delightful, yes." Smiling against Lionel's mouth, Bertie slid an arm around his waist. "I don't know how I got so lucky as to have you."

"How _you_ got so lucky? I'm the one who's in bed with the King of England."

"If you ever call me 'Your Majesty' in bed, I shall have to chop your head off." Giggling, Bertie kissed him again. "I am foremost your friend and even more precious to me, your lover." His smile faded, his expression growing intense. "Say you love me again, please."

"I love you." The words came more easily each time Lionel said them. "I'm sure now that I've loved you for years, but I never dared to hope it could be like this."

"I dreamed of hearing you say it. I've loved you so desperately. I will love you for as long as I live, even if you want to stop doing this..."

Bertie gestured at the bed and Lionel caught his hand, unable to withstand the sadness in his eyes. "You never needed to love me desperately. I could never have refused you anything."

"I was afraid my own passion was leading me to see things that weren't there. Whether your smile was loving or merely friendly, whether your touch was necessary for my speech or the same need for contact that I felt for you."

"If you had asked a year ago, I might have taken the coward's answer and told you it was necessary that I touch you, but I think I've always known better. I tried to pretend that it was because you were a king, not a man." Lionel was very glad that Bertie had not asked; Bertie would have accepted his answer, and in all likelihood, neither of them would ever have dared to ask again. In truth, though, Lionel didn't know what he would have said, whether he might have blurted out everything he'd never really let himself think.

"I never meant to ask. I never meant to kiss you that night, either -- if I had thought to plan it, I would have lost my nerve. Suddenly, there you were, smiling at me, and I forgot all the reasons not to." Bertie's smile burst across his face, and again Lionel was reminded of sunrise. "Did you mean what you said yesterday about going away together?"

"If you could really do it. I would love to be someplace alone with you." Lionel wondered whether there was anyplace so isolated that it would be possible to forget all the names and titles that were never completely outside Lionel's consciousness even when he was trying to make Bertie ignore them.

"If there is one advantage to being king, it's the ability to demand absolute privacy. There's a lodge at Balmoral, nearly a mile from the castle...it belongs to my family, not to the Crown." Bertie's voice filled with longing. "When can you get away?"

"Not before the end of next week." Lionel quickly tried to think of appointments he would need to postpone, patients he'd need to refer to another speech therapist, whether he'd promised his sons to take them anywhere special, whether Myrtle had asked him to accompany her anywhere specific. "But surely your schedule is more full than mine."

"It's not as crowded in the summer. I'll tell my staff I need some focused speech therapy before the State Opening of Parliament. They'll make all the arrangements."

"Will I still see you during the week?" Lionel was loath to disrupt their lessons, though Bertie's speech was so much improved that often more than a week went by without a meeting face to face, though they spoke on the telephone more frequently.

"Oh, yes. I want to come to your office -- I want to kiss you on your sofa as I've dreamed."

The words made Lionel shiver, not entirely with excitement. His boys knew better than to burst into his office when he was with a patient, but some of the younger patients forgot to knock before they entered, even if they were early. "Just remind me to be careful. I am liable to get carried away and forget myself. You know I wouldn't let you be hurt for the world, sweetheart."

"I know." Bertie's smile was misty. "I like it when you call me that. I'm sorry we have to be so discreet here, but we'll go to our retreat and indulge each other shamelessly. Now that I have you, I won't let anything keep us apart."

"It sounds heavenly. Or better than heavenly, because it's real..." Now that he was trying to think of endearments, Lionel found them all insufficient. _Darling_ was so common, and _precious one_ sounded artificial. He settled for, "...love."

"I feel as if I haven't stopped smiling since you first said that word to me." Bertie's lips pressed against Lionel's, letting him feel the corners turning up. "I know you wouldn't be here like this if it was just a whim to either of us."

"I wish I'd said it years ago. I wish I'd shouted it after you that day in the park."

"I wanted to hear it more than anything." Burying his face against Lionel's shoulder, Bertie wrapped his arms tightly around Lionel's waist. "I nearly turned round as it was -- I wish I had."

"I was sure I'd see you again the next day. It took several days to sink in that you weren't coming back and didn't want to see me." Abruptly something came clear to Lionel. "I suppose I thought you already knew. That I pushed you so hard that day because I loved you and believed in you -- I thought it would give you confidence, and make you realize you could be self-sufficient. I thought you wanted more of a proud father figure."

Huffing a laugh, Bertie stroked a finger down his cheek. "I never thought of you as my father."

"I didn't mean literally as your father; he was the King of England, I would never have dreamed of presuming." Lionel shook his head, wondering how many years as an elocutionist it would take for him to become adept enough with words not to keep saying the wrong things. "I thought you needed the sort of encouragement you told me you didn't get from him. I went on about what a great king you could be when I should have told you what a great man you already were."

Bertie's eyes widened in shock. "I'm not a great man," he insisted. "You made me think that I should try to be. Only I wasn't sure whether that was for England, or for you."

"You are a great man. You were before you ever met me." Lionel looked at him sternly. "You were always brave, and persistent, and loyal. I was a fool to let you walk away without telling you that."

"It was never your fault. My feelings were so confused already. There was so much pressure on me from everyone. Churchill was already warning me that the government would collapse if David stayed, but I couldn't face the thought of him leaving. I panicked, and I pushed away my only friend just when I needed him most."

The words made Lionel's chest ache. "I forced your hand. I felt terrible when I understood that. Though maybe it was necessary -- your absence made me realize that I should take more care with your feelings, and how deep my own feelings for you went." Perhaps, thought Lionel, he had grasped some part of it; it simply hadn't shocked him as it should have when Bertie had kissed him that first time in Westminster Abbey. "Maybe we needed to misunderstand each other so badly or we'd never have tossed all that protocol aside."

"You're right, of course. Being apart showed me how much I needed you, even if it was only as my dear friend and speech therapist." Bertie's face rubbed against his shoulder. "As long as you'll stay with me now. I wouldn't trade this for anything."

"Nor would I, Bertie." Lionel paused. "Love."

He felt a bit silly repeating the word, but Bertie lifted his head and smiled. "I love the way you say my name, too."

Lionel laughed in surprise. "I thought that always rankled a bit. I never had any delusions that you considered me family."

"I only let you think it rankled me. I insisted on calling you 'Doctor' so you would have to keep reminding me to call you Lionel."

"Which you persistently refused to do. I thought perhaps you disliked the name."

"It's my favorite name in the world." With am exuberant laugh, Bertie kissed him. "And all yours. George was always more my father's name than mine, and Albert was the prince whose bed we're in. I'm glad you've always called me Bertie." Bertie lowered his eyes shyly. "You always took such loving care of me."

The praise made Lionel blush. To deflect it, he said, "It always made me very happy to see you come through the door. So my motives were selfish. I knew that pleasing the monarchy would bring me pleasure as well."

"You have pleased your monarch in ways of which he has never dreamed." Smiling, Bertie turned his cheek against Lionel's. "Or perhaps he dreamed of it, but he did not expect that you would make him so happy."

"I want to go someplace where I can spoil you completely. I'll tell my pupils that I'm needed for extended work with a very important patient." Myrtle might be less happy, but Myrtle would also be bursting with pride that the king had given Lionel such an invitation. She had been talking about wanting to visit Australia, by herself if Lionel couldn't get away to go with her; perhaps it was time to start planning her holiday.

"I'll have the staff arrange to stock the lodge and prepare the car. I'll tell everyone I need very vigorous speech therapy. No one will suspect anything -- I'm a married man with two children. I don't think anyone expects me to be running off with you as my lover."

Lionel shivered as Bertie's fingers traced over his cheek. "Whoever cleans this room is bound to wonder what you've been up to," he pointed out.

"No one would dare ask. There might be a raised eyebrow in the laundry." Bertie grinned widely enough that Lionel could feel it against his own skin. "It will only enhance my reputation if there is gossip about how vigorous the king's climaxes are."

Laughing, Lionel nodded. "Well, I won't worry about it if you won't."

"My staff already knows I can be a bit odd. And please don't let it grieve you, but I'm sure they think that you are as well, what with the tongue twisters and singing vowels."

"I am a bit peculiar." Lionel tried to sound concerned. "You told me so yourself, not long after we'd met. You should be careful, or I may turn you peculiar, too."

Bertie burst into giggles. "I think it's too late to worry about that. I'm sure I'm a bit peculiar. Possibly even a bit queer."

"And here I am in bed with you. Anyone would believe I was just as queer as you." Lionel was glad that Bertie was laughing. "If anyone finds us like this, we'll have to claim that it was all a very peculiar form of speech therapy."

"'That was merely a new form of breathing exercises!'"

"Well, you were breathing quite hard. And not stammering at all." Lionel couldn't resist kissing Bertie's smile. "Relaxing must agree with you."

"Having you in my bed agrees with me."

"Truly?" Lionel pressed against him suggestively. "Then perhaps you had better keep me here."

"Why Doctor Logue, I believe the rumors are true -- you may be a bit queer."

"Surely that can't be true. I'd have noticed."

"Your prick hasn't let you know that you enjoy the attentions of men?"

Chuckling, Lionel glanced down at his still-recovering lower body. "There's only one man who has ever stirred my prick, and he's a king, so I thought that changed things." Bertie was looking at him seriously, so he amended, "Truly, there's never been another man. Not even in fantasy. When I was very young, we boys used to run around getting into all sorts of trouble together, but as soon as I could get girls interested in me, that was all I thought about."

With a smile, Bertie rubbed his cheek. "I was never curious about men either. I went through the Naval College and never felt the slightest inclination to know whether it was true what they say about sailors. Even though I wasn't good with women -- I was glad to be married and out of the round of society's efforts to marry the king's sons."

"Society's loss is your wife's gain." Lionel paused, wondering whether Bertie had been entirely honest the evening before, when he had been trying to convince Lionel that there should be no obstacles to their sharing a bed. "She won't be upset about all this?"

Bertie considered for a moment, then shook his head. "I don't think so. My feelings weren't a secret. She knew that if I had the opportunity, I might act on them. She would rather protect me than make things difficult for me."

"It wasn't her discretion that concerned me. I would never want to ruin your family's happiness."

"You're the one who gives my family a happy husband and father. I can bear what I must if I know I have your love."

Lionel kissed his forehead. "You would still have my love if you told me we couldn't do this again."

"I'll never tell you that." Bertie swallowed as if bracing himself for his next words. "Are you asking about my wife because yours won't understand all this?"

"My wife, who makes highly inappropriate remarks about what we might be doing locked away in the study?" Lionel watched as Bertie's mouth opened, then burst into laughter once more. "Are you horrified?"

"Just the opposite. Delighted." Still laughing, Bertie buried his face in Lionel's hair. "How I wish both of us had listened to her, and we could have been pouncing on each other for months. Remind me to send her flowers. Or a tiara."

At that, Lionel couldn't help chuckling, too. "She would like a tiara. She wore one to your coronation, but it was rented."

"I remember. You both looked very elegant, but I'm afraid my eyes were mostly on you."

"Mine have always been on you. I don't know how I managed to convince myself it might mean anything other than what it now seems so obvious to me it meant all along."

"I could stay here and look at you all day." Bertie grinned broadly, then glanced at the now-bright window, regret crossing his face. "Though I don't dare keep you in bed with me much longer this morning, or there really may be gossip."

"I suppose I had better be resting on your sofa when they come to announce your breakfast." Lionel pressed his lips to Bertie's forehead, closing his eyes, reverent. "You must know how grateful I am. To you. And to God, I suppose."

"Whatever power brought us together. Even the Archbishop with all his disapproval, because defending you just made me want to kiss you."

For as long as Lionel lived, he would never forget the look on Bertie's face when he insisted to the Archbishop that Lionel would stay. Bertie had been rightly outraged, but there had also been possessiveness in the glance he turned on Lionel. "I suspect I was staring at you in adoration. Which is probably why the Archbishop was so disapproving."

"Then we owe him as well. I'll make a donation to the Church fund. Those whose loyalty I can't command with my title can often be placated with gifts." Sighing, Bertie let his arms slide away from Lionel so that they could both sit up. "When we're in Scotland, no one will ever wake us for breakfast. We can sleep together all night and I can tell you all the ways I love you."

"Only if you let me do the same. I want to recite poetry to you. I want to sing love songs, loudly, where no one else can hear, until you're so tired of my voice that you beg me to stop."

"That won't ever happen." They knelt together to pick up the clothes they had discarded piece by piece across the room, grinning at one another. "I will never get enough of you, unless you decide you've had too much of me."

"No, it is I who will never get enough of you. I'll have an empty space in my heart when I can't be with you."

"Then it's very simple." Straightening, Bertie held out a hand to help Lionel rise. "We'll just have to find ways to stay together forever."


	4. One Lesson

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bertie wants to know how different things will be now when he visits Lionel's office.

Bertie kept his head down and his collar high as he walked to the door, though he could guess that Lionel's neighbors had seen him going inside many times before. His driver had told him that people came out to gawk at the car whenever it was parked near Harley Street. Never again would he and Lionel walk through the park, unrecognizable, now that he was the king, though that did not upset Bertie, whose unhappiest memories were linked to that walk.

Soon, very soon, he would take Lionel far away from London, on paths in the Highlands where only a royal could go.

No small boys passed Bertie as he stepped into the outer room of Lionel's office. Lionel had suggested that he come round to the house, but Bertie had wanted to see him where they had first met and spent so much time working since. With everything that had changed recently, Bertie needed to see for certain that some things had not.

Even though he knew Lionel was waiting, he rapped on the door. When it opened, Lionel gave him the same smile of welcome that he always did. He looked warm -- it was an unusually hot spring in London, one of many reasons Bertie was eager to escape to the relative cool of Scotland -- and Lionel had taken off his waistcoat and tie, as Lionel often did when he was working with patients on physical exercises.

Bertie hadn't needed a coat, but he'd been afraid that his erection would show to passersby if he didn't wear it. Gratefully he took it off, letting Lionel take it from him to hang it up.

"Did you have a speech to work on, or are we just...exercising?" asked Lionel, winking.

"Just exercising, p-please." Bertie let himself collapse onto the sofa, unable to take his eyes off Lionel. He hadn't realized how nervous he was till he'd come through the door.

"Bad day at the office?" Lionel sat beside him, picked up his hand, and rubbed it, massaging outward from the palm. It wasn't impossible that Lionel would have touched him that way before, yet Bertie nearly melted at the contact, thinking he might slide off the sofa.

"Oh, that's nice. I've had piles of documents to sign and date. I don't think even the ministers who wrote them understand them. I want to ask them to put them into plain English, but I'm told that this is how it has always been done, therefore we must adhere to p-protocol...you see, I can't even speak properly any longer."

"If the documents don't make sense to you, I wonder what sort of sense they can make to anyone." Lionel glanced at him as if to be certain he wasn't overstepping.

Bertie had been fixated on their hands, watching as Lionel slowly squeezed each of his fingers. His wrist felt looser but his trousers felt tight. He smiled shyly. "That's what Elizabeth said."

Lionel reached for his other hand. "Her Majesty has always been very clever."

"She was clever enough to know I needed you." Bertie couldn't hold in a soft groan as Lionel's fingers and thumb pressed down.

"Did you mean in general or today in particular?"

"Both. She told me to tell my secretary to cancel my afternoon appointments." Bertie leaned his head back against the sofa, and after a few moments Lionel released his hand, reaching to loosen his tie. "I need you now," he said in a rush.

Smiling, Lionel brushed his fingers over Bertie's cheek. "Tell me what you need."

"Anything. Kiss me. Please."

Lionel leaned in, opening Bertie's collar while his mouth moved softly over Bertie's. It wasn't nearly enough, and Bertie tugged him closer, seeking to deepen the kiss. He'd imagined this so many times -- having Lionel turn to him and kiss him in the consultation room, or grabbing Lionel and doing it himself. This sofa had been the first and most frequent location of all of Bertie's daydreams involving Lionel. With a groan, he cupped the back of Lionel's head, arching against him.

After a few minutes, when they had broken apart to catch their breath, Lionel gestured toward the door. "May I take you somewhere more comfortable?"

The absence of a lock on the door and the large windows, open to let in fresh air, were likely bigger concerns than the state of the sofa. Even when the windows were shut, Bertie knew that people could overhear out in the corridor if anyone made too much noise inside the consultation room. Surely Lionel would think Bertie was mad if Bertie admitted that he'd had a longtime fantasy of a lesson during which Lionel would urge Bertie to his knees, pull his prick out of his trousers, and instruct Bertie to suck it, with both of them pretending that it was merely another exercise.

So Bertie nodded, untangling his hands from behind Lionel's head, rubbing the side of his face against Lionel's cheek. Getting to his feet, Lionel extended a hand. His face was flushed. "A bed would be better for full-body exercises."

Maybe Lionel had inappropriate consultation room fantasies, too. That certainly would be worth exploring if they could arrange to have the windows covered and the door bolted shut. Taking the offered hand, Bertie gave him a grateful smile. He was feeling more relaxed by the moment -- at least, most of him was. "I need a thorough grounding in your methods," he said as he stood.

"You were stammering when you came in here. Your jaw must be very tight. I've canceled my afternoon appointments, too, and warned Myrtle that I might be late for supper, so we have plenty of time." Lionel led him across the room and into the hallway on the other side of the waiting area. Bertie had only ever been as far as the loo, though he'd known there were other doors beyond it.

Bertie waited until Lionel had led him into a small room, with garish blue flowers on the wallpaper and a narrow bed against the wall, to kiss him again. "You take such good care of me."

Chuckling, Lionel turned the lock, then held out his arms. "My motives aren't entirely selfless. You're still a bit overdressed..." His fingers went to work on Bertie's buttons.

The idea of being naked in a moderately well-lit room in the middle of the afternoon was both embarrassing and arousing. Bertie reached for Lionel's sleeves, removing the cufflinks. "You're still a bit overdressed, too." He helped Lionel shake his arm out of one sleeve, then the other, sliding his fingers around the back of Lionel's neck and into his hair. "Tell me what exercises we'll be doing today."

Lionel tugged the bedcovers down, returning to the role of teacher. "Would mouth exercises be most helpful? Or does the rest of you feel just as tense?"

"All of me feels tense." Bertie pushed down his suspenders and reached for the button on his trousers. "And I want what will relax you, too. Didn't you tell me what's good for the p-prick is good for the voice?"

Stilling his hands, Lionel sat on the bed, looking up at him. "Try that again."

"What's good for the willy --"

"No. The other." Lionel shook his head as Bertie planted a knee beside him, urging him back. "Say it if you want it."

"Prick. Want your prick." Ps were as difficult as ever, and Bertie had trouble remembering any strategies when he had Lionel lying down so willingly to let Bertie tug his trousers off. He smiled at Lionel's delighted laugh. "I told you you're a good teacher. Now do I get my reward?"

"Not while you're still wearing anything that could be stained." Lionel's fingers deftly moved over Bertie, taking off the rest of his clothing, until they were both wearing nothing but socks. "It's too warm even for these," said Lionel, pushing his own off with his toes. "There. Feeling better?"

"I always feel better when I see you. Though I must admit that it's a whole different sort of 'better' now that I know I can do this..." Bertie kissed him, waiting for Lionel to respond, gratified that in this little room behind a bolted door, Lionel kissed back with the same passion he'd shown at Buckingham Palace. "Oh, you've improved my day immeasurably."

"What happened this morning that was so stressful?"

"Nothing special, which is why it's so frustrating. It's always the same, regimented and scheduled. I barely have time to piss unless it's on the schedule."

Lionel burst out laughing. "You should tell your staff that you require unscheduled pissing. Same principle as speaking, let it flow..." Giggling a bit, Bertie nodded. "You need to relax. Put _that_ on the schedule."

Placing a finger on Lionel's bare chest, Bertie pretended to be writing with it, making swirls in the thin hairs between the nipples. "At eleven o'clock, I shall need a lengthy unscheduled piss, and at half-past eleven, I shall send a car for my lover, Lionel..." The moving finger made Lionel squirm. "You're right, if I could keep my own hours, it wouldn't be so difficult. Unfortunately, it's only easy with you."

"You're going about this backward." Lionel turned so that his mouth was brushing Bertie's ear. "You want it to be easy with those ponces at the Palace, and hard with me."

"It is hard," moaned Bertie, his breath coming faster. "It's very hard for you."

"How refreshingly unregimented." Lionel's fingers brushed down Bertie's hip, reaching to touch his prick, which throbbed in enthusiastic response. "When did these symptoms begin? Did you try relieving them in the usual manner?"

"You know they began as soon as you walked in the bloody room!" Bertie snorted. "I wanted your professional opinion before I did anything."

Lionel slid a hand up and down the shaft, grinning possessively. "I must warn you, first, that I'm not really a doctor. But I do have some experience with this condition. It looks fairly normal to me. A bit larger than usual. What other symptoms have you noticed?"

"I keep thinking about you. I want you to bugger me all the time. Can I be cured?"

Humming, Lionel shook his head. "My professional opinion, sir, is that you have a contagious case of priapism."

Bertie tried not to be obvious about pushing into his fingers. "Do you mean to tell me that I have infected you?" Lionel stroked him as he nodded. "I can feel that your credentials are impressive. Could you instruct me in the proper treatment?"

"I'm afraid it's rather strenuous..." Lionel's voice had dropped nearly to a growl. It made Bertie moan, arching up to kiss him. "And I must warn you that I have only common rapeseed oil in my prescription cabinet."

"That may be just as well. Olive oil might make me smell like I had dinner during speech therapy." Bertie had managed a joking conversation with a friend of his youngest brother -- "friend" in a sense that Bertie knew better than to question -- about illicit uses of dining table condiments, and so had discovered that while olive oil was the commodity of choice among those who could afford it, rapeseed oil could be quite as effective, even butter in an emergency. The friend had been so drunk that, even if he remembered the conversation, Bertie doubted that he would tell Georgie about it for fear that Georgie would think his friend had been indiscreet to his brother rather than vice versa.

"You deserve better than this, but I'm not encouraging you to look elsewhere." Lionel shifted his weight on the mattress, opening a box on the table by the bed. It appeared to contain perfume and various other containers, among which a small unmarked glass bottle of oil hardly seemed noteworthy.

"I never shall look elsewhere. I never have." Bertie rubbed a foot encouragingly along Lionel's thigh. "Will this be enough for you? To have this only when we can steal away?"

Lionel smiled warmly at him, though his eyes were sad. "Right now it feels like it will never be enough. Maybe when this isn't so new, when we know it won't disappear...but I'm not complaining."

"I don't deserve better. I don't even deserve you." Bertie leaned up for a kiss. "Tell me you aren't unhappy. I know I can't command you never to look elsewhere when I can't give myself to you fully, only in stolen moments..."

Lionel pressed a finger against Bertie's lips. "Never speak like that. If I've failed to express how happy you make me, I must believe I'm a terrible elocutionist." He waited for Bertie to nod, then winked. "It is very difficult to be worthy of the son of an Australian brewer, but you make a noble effort." The kiss they shared was firm and sweet as Lionel spilled oil over his fingertips, dripping some on the bed.

"You're worth the effort. I'd knight you if I didn't think it would cause gossip."

"You gave me that lovely MVO medal. If you knighted me, the elocutionists and English specialists would squawk so much that it wouldn't be safe for you to see me. I don't want any scandal." Lionel's smile turned naughty. "Besides, there are other demands I'd rather make of you."

"Why, sir, what sort of demands did you have in mind?" Despite the words, Bertie raised his knees in invitation and felt Lionel's fingers rubbing behind his bollocks. "You deserve a reward for your loyalty."

"You haven't stammered once since I got your clothes off. That's reward enough."

"You're a very good speech therapist, but an even better lover." Bertie felt as if he were glowing with happiness as Lionel's finger breached him. "You may use that as a testimonial if you wish. I, Albert Frederick Arthur George, King of Great Britain etcetera, declare Lionel Logue to be the finest speech therapist in all my kingdom and the most passionate lover in the world."

"No, Bertie. That's you." With a soft moan, Lionel began to move the finger in and out.

"I'm only passionate with you. No one ever thought I was before. I'm just so eager for everything we do..." He drew in a sharp breath as Lionel pushed in a second finger, stretching him. "You make my responsibilities feel worthwhile, because then I get to see you."

Lionel had paused to see whether he was causing Bertie pain, so Bertie pressed down on the fingers, squeezing a bit. It made him blush a bit how much he liked it on the bottom. He couldn't help wondering whether Lionel thought that was somehow more queer, but Lionel unraveled with such intensity inside him that Bertie never wanted to stop doing it that way.

"I love seeing you like this. But I never want it to interfere with your duties," Lionel said, looking over him as if Bertie were dinner and Lionel hadn't eaten in days.

"It won't. It makes everything easier. It makes me so happy that you want me -- Bertie, not the King of England."

Slowly Lionel withdrew his fingers, reaching again for the oil. "I tried so hard not to," he admitted. "I thought it was inappropriate...indecent, even. But I couldn't help myself."

Wriggling in anticipation, Bertie grinned at him. " _You_ thought something was inappropriate?"

Lionel was laughing when he stretched over him. "From a professional standpoint. Wanting to bugger one's patients is generally frowned upon. Even when one is completely besotted with a particular patient."

His brows lowered in concentration as he pressed inside, much more slowly than the first time. Bertie knew now to tilt his hips and exhale, and the sting passed quickly.

"All right?"

"Much better than all right." Bertie bucked up, encouraging Lionel to move. "You must know I never felt like this with anyone."

"I never thought it was possible to feel such things." Lionel's breath was already coming in pants. He reached for Bertie's prick, stroking it with his thrusts. Bertie focused on muscles he'd never used like this, squeezing around Lionel, and was rewarded with a soft cry.

They moved together without speaking, with Bertie frotting shamelessly against Lionel, whose hand was moving just a bit too slowly. Groaning, Bertie put his own hand on top of Lionel's, stroking himself with Lionel's fingers, and felt Lionel shudder.

"I'll go mad if you do that."

"Go mad, then -- want to watch you lose control --"

"Bertie..." Lionel's hand sped up beneath his, twisting as it moved, and Bertie arched back on the bed, eyes fluttering closed in bliss. "I'll go too fast. I'll hurt you."

"You've never hurt me. I want it harder. Please!"

The bed creaked beneath them as Lionel's hips snapped. "Fuck!" Lionel's eyes were unfocused. Bertie had never seen him so wild; Lionel was usually so even-tempered, so much in possession of himself.

Just thinking that he had made Lionel look like that pushed Bertie right to the edge. "Just like that, never want to stop!" He let his hand slide off Lionel's, clutching at the sheet beneath him. "Can't live without --" No way to continue, only to finish. Bertie's voice dissolved into a groan as he clenched around Lionel, shaking in release.

He was never going to outlast Lionel, he thought dimly as consciousness returned. Lionel was watching him, hips still moving. At least Lionel was moaning continuously.

"Do it," whispered Bertie, unable to find his full voice. "Come for me."

"Bertie, oh --" Lionel's eyes rolled back as climax seemed to crest over his entire body. Bertie clung to him, smiling breathlessly. He couldn't imagine how he had lived without this, a month ago or a year ago. No wonder his life had felt so joyless, despite how much he adored his girls and how grateful he was for Elizabeth's unwavering support. He had never understood how completely love could change the entire world.

They lay together, panting, both slick with sweat that the faint breeze from the single window did little to cool. "I'm terrible at controlling myself with you," Lionel said ruefully. "Especially when you say things like that to me. Are you sore?"

Bertie shook his head. "Not at all. I loved feeling you come apart like that."

With a soft chuckle, Lionel slid out of him, collapsing against him on the narrow mattress. "Just promise you'll stop me before I go too far."

"I don't want you to be cautious around me. Everyone else is. I want you to be as you always were -- I promise that, no matter what, I'll never again have my secretary show you the door."

Lionel's arms pulled him close. "I'm not cautious around you. But I don't want to be too incautious, either. I'm not insensible to the risks." He hummed for a few moments, until Bertie recognized the tune and grinned: it was "I Can't Give You Anything But Love."

"You're always what I need. I try not to wish for things I can't have, but if I could have just one, it would be to keep you with me always."

Lionel's breath caught, then resumed, sounding shaky. "You wouldn't want that. I have terrible manners. I'd be an embarrassment."

"You have lovely manners for an Australian." Bertie waited to hear Lionel laugh, but the chuckle seemed forced. He lifted himself up to make certain he hadn't offended Lionel. "I'm joking, of course. You could never be an embarrassment. Though I sometimes think you delight in playing the fool, especially when there's too much pomp and ceremony weighing down on me."

"In my theatrical career, I played fools and kings both. But think how quickly I'd make a fool of myself if I were too often at court. If you have trouble dealing with your ministers, when you grew up among ministers, I can't imagine there's anything I could say to impress them."

"You wouldn't be expected to impress them. Just me, and you do that already." Bertie knew that it must sound like he was clinging, even though Lionel was the one with his arms around Bertie. "This is why I try not to wish for things I can't have."

"But you do have me, love." The endearment went straight to Bertie's chest, tightening it, making him press closer to Lionel with a soft whimper. "If you had me with you more than you already do, we would both be under much more scrutiny than we are now. So long as they think I know my place, they have no reason to doubt you."

"As long as you know your place is with me."

"You may have noticed that it's a place I very much appreciate." Lionel was smiling as he bent down for a kiss. "I love having you with me whenever we can. When we can't, I have to make do with seeing you look handsome and distinguished in the newsreels."

"I look stuffy." Bertie wrinkled his nose. "Regal."

"And unbearably attractive in that uniform, covered in medals and ribbons and buttons."

"I clink when I walk! That can't be attractive." Lionel wriggled a bit to contradict him, and Bertie found that he was grinning once more as he leaned back to regard him. "Shall I wear it when we rehearse my next broadcast?" Bertie still found it as difficult to speak with his coat on as he did when he was forced to sit or when the windows were shut, but he suspected they wouldn't be progressing very far in the speech at the rehearsal.

"Oh yes. I think you must." Lionel's eyes had dilated a bit. "So that you'll feel the part of the king as completely as possible, you should rehearse in the proper attire."

"We'll have to leave time for mouth and throat exercises before I begin. As always, I must obey my speech therapist's instructions. He has only my best interests at heart." Lowering his head, Bertie sighed against Lionel's chest.

Lionel rubbed his face in Bertie's hair. "Your speech therapist loves you very much," he whispered as if sharing a precious secret.

Clutching at him unabashedly, Bertie stroked Lionel's back. "And I return his love quite ardently." He'd needed to hear that, and to say it, even more than he'd needed to make love.

"Then you've made me the happiest man in the kingdom." Lionel's head lifted, but only so that he could tilt Bertie's chin up for a kiss.

They smiled at each other before Bertie tucked his head between Lionel's neck and shoulder once again. It would have been more comfortable in a cooler room, yet Bertie had never felt better -- safe and cared for and adored. With a small laugh, he added, "I just hope I don't get hard thinking of you the next time I have to wear my uniform for some state occasion."

"I get hard in the most inappropriate places just from seeing your photograph on the walls. The grocer, the shop where my boys buy their models, the school..."

Bertie moaned at each revelation. "That seems only fair, because I get hard for you in Council meetings and during formal dinners."

Lionel kissed his forehead. "I'll lose control if you tell me things like that, too."

"Then I shall always say it." Turning, Bertie rubbed his cheek against Lionel's jaw. "You know that I'm thinking about it even when I can't say it, when we're surrounded by Archbishops and ministers."

He felt rather than saw Lionel's nod. "I wish I could do more. I wish I could love away every misery inflicted on you. Don't ever think I'd let your chosen career get in the way of my feelings."

Joy swelled in Bertie, more complete than the laughter that Lionel had yet again coaxed out of him. "I get through bad mornings by thinking of being with you like this. Loving you is the purest pleasure I've ever known, more than I know how to say."

"If you'd like, I could recommend some exercises to help with your speech."

The sheets were damp with sweat beneath them, and Bertie knew that, eventually, he was going to have to peel himself apart from Lionel, clean up, and go back to muddling through state papers. Perhaps he and Lionel would even do some vocal exercises in the consulting room before he left.

For now, he let his giggle vibrate Lionel's belly, burrowing beneath his arm. "I've already learned a reliable method for relaxing the throat," he said. "I shall want to practice it soon."


End file.
